In a weird sleazy city on a cold November night
In a weird sleazy city, on an early November night, in an apartment slightly too small for hosting parties, there was a celebration being held. If one went up to the door, or looked in the window, one could see lights; a few candles, mostly electric, and hear the sounds of speech… One could see faces talking about lives no longer amongst them, not solemnly but raucously, as the smell of chilli peppers and beans cooked in lard filled the air and sugar skulls adorned countertops. The host was unusual yes, a great muscular yellow-spined beast of a monster-woman by the handle of Body Shock. with the subtle crackle of electricity around her, but this was not a time where that was relevant. This was a time for memories, as she roamed around the room, receiving and pushing forward wild antecdotes of days gone by, and music playing from several daisy-chained dollar-store speakers that she added a tune or so to the playlist when she heard someone mentioning a person gone by to them and their favorite song. And all of this was around a great-small altar, built of brick and cardboard as high as the celling would let it go, and painted in bright colors, adorned with photographs and keepsakes and sugar skulls and candles, a fulcrum around which the party revolved. And then, suddenly, it stopped. For, the door had creaked open and; into the room entered a woman. She carried an aura that brought a hush upon the crowd, a lean and deathly pallor of power despite the top of her hat barely reached to the shoulders of the next- shortest person in the room. It was Boss McGlade, arch-criminal and enemy to Body Shock, and if her eyes were not already blood red, they would have turned such as Body Shock grabbed McGlade by the front of her shirt collar. “What the fuck are you doing here?!” Shock said, in a voice b=vaguely approxiamting calm. “Now, now,” said McGlade, flashing a shark-toothed; smug grin, “Is that any way to treat a guest? It would be gauche of you to disrupt this party with an assault on my person, as would it be gauche for me to commit any acts of assault against yourself in front of so many witnesses.” Body Shock hoisted her higher “Nice fuckin try, but you still ain’t answered my question” One of the guests had gotten out a sword cane at this point. “Simply put, because of your exact sort of response, and because I felt I could do so with few reprecussions, it would be of little benefit to yourself to call the authorities on a party in this neighborhood.” Body Shock lowered her a bit. It’s fascinating how the two were united in their mutual distaste for cops, with reasonings that sometimes even matched up. “How the fuck do I know you ain’t here on some bullshit?” “You would not believe me if I claimed I wasn’t. Plus, again, witnesses would be a means of disadvantage to us both, would they not?” With that, Body Shock dropped her unceremoniously, with McGlade landing right on her own two feet with equal lack of pretense. “Alright, but I ain’t takin an eye off yas.” “I would expect nothing less” said McGlade, as she went to get a plate. The mood went back to celebration, albeit with nervous glances at the strange, blue-pallid woman who seemed only interested in a small cup of ginger-ale and a plate slathered in refried beans. But, her focus was on the altar, and the image at the top. “Hm. Who is this man? You must find him of a great deal of importance for his position at this apex of your ofrenda.” “Hey, it ain’t just mine, it’s the whole party’s altar. And if you’re lookin for hostages, you’re a few years too late. He’s gone.” “An acquaintance of yours perhaps?” “Fuck me, he’s my grandpa, ! Only motherfucker in the whole fuckin family who was ever nice to me! Like, when I was a kid, my parents bought a rabbit, said they’d got me a pet. I was so happy to see that lil’ fucker, Trucker I named ‘em. Month later, turns out it was fattenin’ him up for meat! And they laughed n laughed when I had the stew n I asked where Trucker was”. “While outside my context, I would presume that seems hideous behavior.” “I cried for a whole day! But abuelo, he was over there for dinner that night, didn’t know until they told him about ‘em, convinced 'em to give him the bones n what was left of the skin for a lil funeral; in a shoebox. He even held a lil ceremony, n kept the foot on a necklace for me to keep,” Body Shock pointed up at the apex of the Ofrenda, and there was an old; shriveled rabbit’s foot by the portrait of the old man “I still remember the vacant lot it was in…” Body Shock sighed and put her head down “We were the only ones left there that weren’t trainwrecks or complete motherfuckers. He tried to make sure I got what he had when he left, but the parents weaseled a way to get it for their 'business.’ Like, you heard o the Necro-Narco epidemic?” “I am vaguely familiar” said McGlade, lying only in that she was in fact extremely familiar with its various fallouts. “Yeah, that was part o what they did. But hey,” Body Shock said, perking up immediately “they’re probably in a fuckin ditch somewhere, let 'em be forgotten!” She held up a drink and shouted, “A toast to abuelo, wherever the fuck he is right now!” Glasses were raised, a toast was shouted, and Boss McGlade was suddenly looking down. If there was a vulnerable expression on her face, nobody but her could see it under her wide-brimmed hat and downturned look. Her hands were in her pockets. “So, whattabout you Doc?” Body Shock responded “Got any loved ones you wanna offer to, some fuckbuddy got whacked by the mob; some dead ma who you wanna avenge or whatever people like y-” She stopped as McGlade dug something out of her pocket. There was a slight snap of electricity amongst the silence of the audience, only for it to dissipate once everyone saw what it was. A small plastic figurine of what looked like a toy soldier, but with a broken egg with bat wings for an upper body. She placed it upon the table next to an old; drippy candle, and dug out and placed a sugar skull next to it from her pockets, one of many she had pettily knicked for later consumption. She breathed in a deep sigh, and one could see her hair do a slight bristle as she began to speak: “I am not at liberty to discuss the further detailings of this event, but I will state that I spent most of my younger life in a series of cruel and abhorrent laboratories, a child treated as simply a prisoner, a child lab-rat. There were others in that lab, and the one I remember most…” She paused for a moment. “Her name was Susan.” A few guests could swear they saw tears run down from her eyes. “That wasn’t the name they gave her, but she said she liked it instead of that number they gave us. She was my age, maybe a few months older. She was the only person who was a friend there to me, she shielded me from the punishments for when I had to sneak a scrap of food to not starve from the experiments.” There were most definitely tears running down from her eyes now. “She used to smuggle in comics and these little figures from this collection. This was one of the ones she didn’t have before she, before she…” McGlade breathed out a shuddering breath, “I don’t know if she’s even dead. They never found the body. We were going to get married, if we ever got out, we promised each other…” Body Shock said nothing and walked over. She picked up the figurine, off the table, and placed it right at the top, next to the image of her grandfather. “Hey, now,” Body Shock sad awkwardly. She wasn’t particularly equipped to deal with her own emotions, no less those of others. “Why don’t we put 'em up top? Seem fitting, like, thematically, yanno?” Then, transitioning away from that awkwardness, she raised her glass. “A TOAST, TO SUSAN!” There was a cheer, and a raising of glasses from the other participants and then’; at once; a raised glass from McGlade. And so, in a weird sleazy city on an early Novermber night, a truce was called for this night alone. It may at first seem strange to call a truce on a holiday of the dead, but the dead never truly die if they are remembered. And, through kindness’ hands, memories work, and the dead may walk again, if but for one night… Author Notes So yeah! A more ambitious character piece, to celebrate the true meaning of Day Of The Dead! As per usual, this drabble is under a CC-BY-SA license for direct adaptation, but all the characters/concepts/settings/ect are free to use as you see fit under a CC-BY-Vanilla license so long as I; Thomas F. Johnson, am credited as their creator! And, if you wanna support me, maybe check out my Patreon or even just send a Ko-Fi my way! Every penny is appreciated, and I am eternally grateful for those who donate! Category:Thomas Johnson Fiction